Page 98 of Well Played

Madman doesn’t sit down. His lips are pursed, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Coach mimics a huge ice sculpture as he crosses his arms and stares at the captain. “Yeah. Madison, you got another question?”

The frown on the captain’s face deepens as he gazes at Ms. Pullman. “Is she Alan Pullman’s daughter?”

That’s a jolt. I never even put the two of them together. Another black mark on her score sheet.

Maya’s throat works as she shoulders Ax aside and steps up to the microphone, tapping it lightly as if not sure it’s still on. She gives Madman alet’s get it onlook. “Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with that?”

Feisty. Did I underestimate her grit?You go, girl, I think, then pull back the traitorous thought before it can blow out ofmy mouth and escape into the room. What is this magical effect and how can I block it?

Madman lifts his mitts, then turns them over in apology. “If you’re qualified, I’m cool with it. Just not in to special favors.”

Color floods into her face. “What if it’s both? Without connections I’d be an anonymous applicant in a sea of hopefuls. And of course I’m qualified. Maybe you should call me Doctor.”

Ax breaks in. “Maya has her Doctor of Physical Therapy degree, plenty of experience, and all the skills—ability to perform in high-stress situations, good medical evaluation skills, strong relationship-building capabilities, empathy and compassion, patience and persistence.”

Wyatt Fry pipes up, “Hey, Coach, wasn’t Pullman head coach when you started out with Baltimore?”

Ax shoots icicle spears in his direction. The rumble from his chest sends a chill through the room. “Maybe Alan saw we had an opening and mentioned his daughter, and maybe I passed her name onto the medical staff, but that had nothing to do with her hiring. Hiring and firing are above my pay grade.”

A bunch of jigsaw pieces suddenly scramble around and create an unpleasant picture. Pullman was our coach when I played with the Wolves. He and I never got along well and a year after my hit ended Ax’s career I was traded, ironically to the Seabirds.

Pullman’s daughter has probably heard an earful of stuff about me. An itch develops between my shoulders and my good knee bounces up and down uncontrollably.

I reach back to scratch the itch, but it’s no good. A buzzer goes off in my head.Get out of here, Sauer. Damage control warning.My elbow hits Fry, who’s sitting next to me. He shoots a dirty look. I punch his shoulder and whisper, “Be right back.”

I try to sneak out, but my name echoes down the hallway as I hobble out, dying away as I hit the elevator that goes to theadmin floor. First priority is to talk to our GM, Phil Marshall. Unlike our coach, he has faith in me as a player. I need to get him to agree I don’t have to work with Maya Pullman.

No one chases me down and now, slightly breathless, I shoulder my way into the managerial suite. Antonia Freemantle, the receptionist for the Director of Hockey Operations, GM, Associate GM for Player Development, and Director of Public Relations, gives me a big smile.

“Slow down, Peg Leg. Nothing is that urgent.”

I pant from the effort. “You’re wrong there. Is Phil around? I really need to see him.”

“The upper-management team is meeting, but I’ll see if he can get loose for a minute to talk to you.” She taps on her keyboard, while I pace the space in front of her desk, glancing at my watch over and over.

After what seems like forever, she raps her knuckles against the wood. “Phil says go into the conference room.” She points to a door in the corner just as it swings open.

“Come in, Frank, and take a seat,” Phil calls out. “Grab a mug on your way in.

I pour in the dark, steaming liquid and drop in a couple of sugar cubes. The spoon clinks against the pottery as I stir. Then I awkwardly wedge into the one empty seat at the table, facing not just the GM but what might be a tribunal.

“Knee a little stiff after last night?” Phil’s question rattles me and I don’t respond. He continues as if he doesn’t expect a response. “Thought you’d be at a team meeting right now. Is it over already?”

Crap. Everyone knows everything here. “No, but something came up that I need to talk about right away.” Four pairs of eyes burn with curiosity.

Phil tents his fingers. “Come on, then. Spit it out.”

My heart sinks and my stomach heaves. I was hoping for a casual chat where I could bring it up in the course of shooting the breeze. Now it’s a big deal thing and I’m the whiny bastard bleating about, about …

Bea Freemantle, who just happens to be the receptionist’s daughter, taps a highly polished nail against the surface of the table. Our Director of Hockey Operations, she’s a numbers person, great with massive amounts of data analysis, but not so much a people person. Instead, she’s a take-no-prisoners exec with the patience of a flea. “We don’t have all day to sit here, waiting for you.”

“Yeah, uh, I just want to opt out of having to work with Maya Pullman.”

Astonishment, confusion, and anger wash through the room.

“Excuse me,” Bea says, eyes narrowed into evil slits. “Is Maya someone you know? Had a relationship with?”

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